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Brownout!
Ishmali Emirate, The Middle East April 3, 1996 ' Alpha Dog sat next to the truck at the side of the Ishmali airbase’s main runway, trying not to do anything to start himself sweating. The one-time Delta Force soldier was now one of the newest members of the full GI Joe unit, after being a member of the joint Joe/CIA task force known as Steel Brigade. Alpha Dog glanced to his left to see Dusty, the team’s desert warfare specialist leaning against a convenient Humvee, apparently at his ease. Dial-Tone was listening to the local air traffic control frequency on his radio set as he stood sweating in the shadows. Captain Falcon, the leader of the team that had been sent here for a desert warfare training exercise, was dozing in the shade of the same truck as Alpha Dog. Dial-Tone’s head suddenly came up. “Helicopter’s inbound. Five minutes,” he announced. Alpha Dog suppressed a sigh. He hated hot weather like this. He’d been glad to be assigned to the cooler climes of the Caucus region in Steel Brigade. The team shuffled to their feet and collected their gear. Moments later, an Ishmali Air Force CH-47 Chinook roared into sight, flared and then dropped to the runway near them. The twin-rotor helicopter’s rear ramp dropped and the crew chief stepped down it and waved to the Joes. The team jogged across to the helicopter and quickly found seats. The Chinook lifted off at the crew chief’s word that the Joes were on board. Sitting in one of the seats already was Airtight, who Alpha Dog had briefly met back at the PIT, GI Joe’s headquarters beneath the Utah desert. The other Joes pulled on intercom headsets as Airtight opened an attaché case and passed around manila folders. “Welcome aboard, Joes,” Airtight said. “This mission’s a hot one, so excuse me briefing you.” “How’d you get here so fast, Airtight?” Dial-Tone asked. “We left you back in Utah yesterday.” “Two Skystrikers,” Airtight answered. “Ace flew me from Utah to France on one, with two in-flight refuellings on the way. An Action Force Skystriker got me from France to Ishmal with a brief refuelling stop in Cyprus, courtesy of one of the RAF bases.” Airtight grinned, “In-flight refuelling is nerve-wracking.” Airtight gestured at the folders, opening one of his own. “The photo in the front of your file is of an experimental recon satellite, codename ‘Eagle Eye’. She’s nuclear powered, rather than relying on photovoltaic solar panels.” Airtight paused as the others looked at the satellite. “She was hit last night by a meteor and crashed in the deserts of Trucial Abysmia, twenty miles south of an airstrip controlled by forces loyal to Colonel Sharif,” Airtight went on. “Our mission is to insert near the airstrip, locate the satellite and secure the onboard hard-drives and shut down the nuclear power core. Telemetry received by NASA and the Air Force indicates the core is unstable and may attain critical mass in the next five to six hours. Dial-Tone and I are the only ones who will approach the satellite inside the hanger it’s now in. Dial-Tone will secure the onboard data units; I will shut down the nuclear core. The rest of you will provide security.” “Uh, what?” Dial-Tone asked. “Don’t worry,” Airtight said quickly, “We’ve got Hazmat suits. You and I go in, you secure the data and I’ll work on the core.” He pointed to a large metal box next to him, “Lead-lined box for the nuclear material. It’s fine.” Alpha Dog noticed that Dial-Tone didn’t look particularly reassured. So did Airtight, apparently. “You’re the only guy we’ve got who can do this, man,” Airtight said. “It’s one of the main reasons Hawk picked you guys to do this, you’re the best one for the job of retrieving the hard-drives and you’re already close.” Dial-Tone didn’t look remotely mollified, but simply said, “Fine.” Airtight flipped to the second image in the file. “Second image is a photo from a KH-11 satellite of the airstrip in question,” he went on. “Single runway strip, a few hangars for MiGs and support buildings. Security appears to be a platoon of infantry, reinforced by three BTR vehicles.” Alpha Dog was studying the image closely. The airstrip had a paved road leading to a gate on its north side, with two guard-posts. An unpaved road led to a smaller gate on the east side. A fence surrounded the complex. Four hangers were on the south side of the runway; a Soviet-built MiG-23 had been caught on the taxiway to the hangars. Tags on the photo identified the three armoured personnel carriers, as well as fuel tanks, weapons stores, barracks blocks, the ops building and so on. “How are we inserting?” Dusty asked. Airtight waved to the helicopter they were in. “We’re inbound now,” he replied. “Courtesy of the Ishmali Air Force’s Special Aviation Operations Squadron. Don’t worry, these guys are good. They trained with the Brits.” “''Don’t forget, we also hired instructors from your Night Stalkers regiment,” the crew chief cut in on the intercom. Falcon grinned. “You boys didn’t try hiring Lift-Ticket did you?” “''Not that I know of,”'' the crew chief replied. “''They hired guys after they retired.”'' “''ETA is two hours,”'' the co-pilot added. “We’re landing near the airfield, the other side of a hill, then moving in on foot,” Airtight went on. “In, out as fast as we can, the helicopter will pull back to a holding point and come extract us as needed.” “What’s our ROE?” Alpha Dog asked. “Rules of engagement are that the whole airstrip is a free-fire zone. Anyone not us is a valid target.” '''Trucial Abysmia Two hours later The Chinook hovered above the desert, allowing the Joes to trot down the ramp. It quickly lifted off and sped away, flying low. Alpha Dog looked off to the east of the airfield. “Hey, Dusty,” he called. “What’s that?” Dusty followed his pointed arm. A brown cloud blotted out the horizon. “Sandstorm!” Dusty called. “Get your goggles and scarves on!” The team hastily donned the shemag scarves they carried as well as their goggles. The sandstorm was barrelling across the desert at high speed. Dusty activated his throat mike. “We can still pull this off, the sandstorm will cover us.” The team headed out at a brisk pace across the sand, Dusty leading the way. It took only a few minutes for the sandstorm to sweep across them and the airfield, swamping everything in a brown cloud of flying sand. The team reached the perimeter fence of the camp, bunching up in order to keep one another in sight. Dusty led them to the small gateway, where they were easily able to duck under the boom barrier. Dusty paused as he tried to get his bearings. The swirling sand made it easy to get lost. Next to him, Airtight fumbled in his webbing gear and pulled out a small gadget with a screen at the top. A blue dot was on the screen at the ‘two o’clock’ position. Airtight nudged Dusty and showed him the screen. “Satellite’s this way.” “Lead the way, Airtight,” Dusty answered. The team moved off again. Five minutes later, they’d crossed the small airstrip to the hangar. The main doors were closed, which suited the team. Dial-Tone and Airtight moved to the side of the hangar and found a smaller personnel door. They quickly pulled out the Hazmat suits Falcon and Alpha Dog had been carrying and put them on as the others kept watch. Once in the suits, Airtight led Dial-Tone to the door. Alpha Dog watched as Airtight carefully opened the door before sticking his head in and peering around. After a moment, the pair disappeared inside. “Dusty, move over to the other side of the hangar,” Falcon ordered. “Keep watch. Alpha Dog, stay here. I’ll check the rear of the hangar.” Alpha Dog nodded and moved closer to the hangar and hunkered down, trying to get out of the worst of the storm. The Delta operator wondered how long this was all going to take… Inside the hangar, Airtight and Dial-Tone had entered the vast building devoid of guards. The satellite sat in the middle of the hangar, surrounded by lights atop poles. The pair moved closer, Airtight holding out a Geiger counter. '' ''“Low level leakage,” he reported to Dial-Tone. “Better to keep the suits on, though.” “Copy,” Dial-Tone replied. Airtight noticed he looked nervous, but seemed determined. Dial-Tone moved carefully around the satellite before stepping closer. “Looks like they’ve already opened up the hatch where the data banks are stored. I’m going to get closer and check them.”'' “Fine. I’ll get on with checking the power core.” Dial-Tone examined the satellite’s innards, peering into the interior with a small penlight. “It looks like they’ve already pulled the hard-drives,” Dial-Tone said. “That’s going to be a problem.” Airtight didn’t respond at first, he was too busy unscrewing an access panel on the satellite’s side. “Try looking in the office upstairs,” Airtight said, gesturing toward a set of stairs at the side of the hangar leading to a small office above the ground. “I’ll keep working here.” Dial-Tone hurried over and up the stairs. Airtight finally opened the access panel the power core was visibly damaged; the Geiger counter began clicking much louder. Airtight backed away carefully and pulled out a long set of tongs. He kicked open the lid on the lead-lined box and then gingerly unplugged the power core, placed it in the box and kicked the lid shut. As Airtight snapped the latches closed, Dial-Tone ran back down the stairs, a pair of computer hard-drives in his hands. '' “We might have a problem,” he told Airtight. “I’m not sure if they’ve cracked the hard-drive''s.” Airtight swore. “Better let the Captain know,” he said. “I’m done here, anyway.” Alpha Dog heard the door opening at the side of the hangar as the winds began to lessen, he turned to see Airtight and Dial-Tone step out and begin to strip off the hazmat suits. Alpha Dog turned toward Dusty at the opposite side of the hangar and whistled. Amazingly, the veteran desert trooper heard and turned, Alpha Dog waved to him. The pair rendezvoused with Airtight and Dial-Tone as Falcon reappeared. “The locals may have cracked the hard-drives’ encryption,” Dial-Tone told them, “They had them wired up to a couple of desktop PCs and seemed to be trying to access individual files on them.” “Great,” Falcon said, sarcastically. “Did you do anything to the computers?” “Sure, I pulled out a magnet I had in a pocket and did my damnedest to wipe the hard-drives of the computers. I dunno how well that worked, though.” Dial-Tone shrugged, “I could go back in and frag them with a charge or something to be sure.” Falcon shook his head, “No, we need to get out of here,” he said. “The sandstorm’s abating. We better book before we get spotted.” “Gotta agree with that,” Dusty said. “We better move out.” “Lead the way, then, Sergeant,” Falcon said. Dusty led them off. The team was halfway to the gate when one of the soldiers in the guard post came out to look at the abating sand. He shouted to his companion before bringing his AK up to bear. Alpha Dog didn’t hesitate, he snapped up his own assault rifle and fired a three round burst that hit the guard square in the torso and dropped him into a pile of sand next to the guard shack. The other guard must have hit an alarm button as sirens began to wail across the base. The second guard came out of the shack and opened fire. The team all dropped to one knee and Falcon, Dusty and Alpha Dog opened fire at the guard almost simultaneously. Nine rounds hit the guard, killing him completely before he barely got a chance to fire. “Keep moving to the LZ!” Falcon shouted to Airtight and Dial-Tone, “Alpha Dog and I will cover you!” Both commandos pivoted on their feet and looked for targets. Several Abysmian soldiers were running toward the Joes, none in range of their assault rifles. Dusty shouted to them, “We’re at the gate, I’ve got you covered! Fall back!” Alpha Dog glanced to Falcon who nodded and they both turned and ran to the gate. A shell flew overhead and blew a geyser of sand into the air. Alpha Dog dropped to the ground and squirmed around to see a BTR armoured carrier rolling toward them, its 20mm cannon fired again. This time, the shell blew a hole in the fence. “Kilo 7-7, this is Delta, request immediate evac. We’re under fire from a BTR at the edge of the airfield and need immediate extraction,” Dial-Tone radioed to the Chinook. “Delta, 7-7, we’re on route, but you’re going to have to take out the BTR, we’re not armed.” “Copy, 7-7,” Dial-Tone answered. A third shell dropped short of the guard shack. Alpha Dog opened fire at the armoured personnel carrier, aiming for the driver’s viewport. The bullets bounced off the armour around the window, chipping paint, but not much else. Next to him, Dusty unslung the AT-4 anti-tank rocket launcher he’d been carrying. He pulled off the protective caps from both ends, brought it up to his shoulder and fired. The rocket slammed into the APC checking its advance, shoving it sideways slightly. The turret began to move in the Joes’ direction. “RUN!” Dusty screamed. The Joes immediately split up, running in several directions, so that the APC couldn’t target all of them at once. Alpha Dog actually ran toward the BTR, pulling out a fragmentation grenade from his web-gear. He pulled the pin and hurled the grenade at the BTR’s turret. The grenade detonated as it struck the gun, wrecking it. Alpha Dog immediately span around, nearly falling in the piled sand from the storm, before sprinting away from the BTR carrier. Dusty and Falcon covered him as he ran toward the guard shack. The trio then sped after Airtight and Dial-Tone who had hunkered down further away from the shack. The heavy thunder of the Chinook’s rotors began to beat the air as it sped in low across the desert, dropping lower still to pick the team up. On the airfield, one of the MiGs was taxiing to take off. The Joes sprinted toward the Chinook as it pivoted around. The rear ramp was already down and the commandos ran up the ramp without breaking stride. The heavy-lift helicopter lifted off as the MiG reached the end of the runway. As the twin-rotor helicopter thundered across the desert, the MiG-23 ran its engine up to full power, before the pilot tripped the brakes and the ‘Flogger’ began its take off run. Halfway down the runway, the MiG’s engine choked on the sand it had sucked up through the intakes and it flamed out, causing the fighter to roll to a halt near the end of the runway. The Chinook gained altitude and sped away from the airfield as the Abysmians tried to drag the MiG clear of the runway. Two hours later, the Chinook landed back in Ishmal without any incident. The Joes disembarked from the helicopter, which was taken off to be refuelled, whilst the crew had a break. An American C-130 Hercules was parked near the helicopter’s landing spot. As the Joes began walking toward it, they were met by Colonel Courage, an immaculately dressed Black officer in a US Army class A uniform. The Joes saluted him. Courage returned the salute. “Welcome back, Joes. I just got here from Germany. We’re flying you back Stateside with that precious cargo.” “Thanks Colonel,” Airtight said, handing him the lead-lined box. “Could you carry that on to the plane? My arm’s getting tired from holding on to it.” Airtight walked off, smiling to himself as Colonel Courage tried to hold the box as far away from himself as possible, a distasteful look on his face. “Don’t worry, sir,” Alpha Dog said, “It’s harmless.” “Mostly harmless,” Dusty put in. “Mostly,” Dial-Tone agreed as he followed Airtight. The colonel exchanged a look with Falcon, who hid his amusement from the Joes’ operations officer. Colonel Courage was well known for his fastidious attention to detail and neatness. Pulling his leg in subtle ways had become a source of amusement for the much less buttoned down members of the Joes. Falcon started to say something, thought better of it and simply headed for the transport, leaving Colonel Courage to follow, still holding the box at arm’s length. Once the Joes were on board, the C-130 took off, heading east toward America. Notes This story’s adapted from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 mission ‘Cliffhanger’, relocated to a Mid East desert environment, instead of a Kazak airfield in a blizzard and with a larger team and a slightly different ending. See the country pages for more on Ishmal and Trucial Abysmia. Category:Stories